West Italy
by Annakratos
Summary: Feliciano and Lovino realize they have a younger brother and must nurture him into a proper Italian. Warning: typical Italian antics and a very confused America.
1. Prologue

**Hello world! I'm terribly sorry for not posting anything for so long! Sometimes the "niggles", as my friend MoonClaimed (who incidentally edited this. She's good like that.) calls them, don't arise for awhile. But fear not! I actually have a few ideas popping around in my head (quite a few for this story). The bad news: 18 credits of summer classes, 2 CampNanoWriMos, and a job. I'm sure I'll squeeze in some writing somewhere…**

**Anyway, I'm very pleased to release my first multichap story! I really had a blast writing it, and I hope you enjoy it!**

**By the way, did you know that the name America is the female version of Amerigo?**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"Fratello! Fratello! Wake up!" Lovino grumbled as he was shook roughly awake.

"What?" he spat, glaring harshly at his brother. "What could be so important that you had to wake me at," Lovino squinted at the clock beside him. "Fuck Feli! It's 4:30 in the morning!" _He better not have had a nightmare about being licked by a cat again._

"Ve, I'm sorry, mi dispiace, but it's important! It's about America! He was named after Amerigo Vespucci!"

Lovino stared blankly at Feliciano. "…He's been named that for 500 years and you only just realized that? I mean, Christ, I knew you were slow, but that's really bad."

"Ve? Lovi, that's mean!"

"Stop," he yawned, "calling me that. Now go the fuck back to sleep!"

"But fratello! Don't you realize what that means? America's Italian!"

Lovino froze. His brother had actually said something that made sense. America... was Italian. The energetic brat was one of them! And if they had America on their side…

"Feli, do you realize what this means?"

Feliciano nodded. "I'm a big brother just like you!"

"No! Well, I guess…" Lovino frowned. Where had he been going with this? _Oh, that's right._

"What it means is that we'll be a force to be reckoned with."

"You mean-"

Lovino smirked. "That's right. The great Roman Empire will rise again."

* * *

**So, what do you think? I know it's really short, but it **_**is **_**an intro. The next chapter is much longer and should be posted shortly.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Happy Father's Day!**

**As promised, here is a much longer chapter one!**

**See how there aren't too many (hopefully no) mistakes in this chapter? That's thanks to my lovely beta, MoonClaimed. She did a lot of work on this chapter. That'll teach me to write at four in the morning! (No it won't.)**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"What do you see?" Lovino, hidden in the bushes, demanded of his younger brother.

"There's a cute little kitty sleeping under the bush!"

"Damn it Feliciano, give me those!" Lovino snatched the bright pink binoculars his brother was holding. "…Did you have to get the fucking pink ones?"

"Ve? " Feliciano blinked at confusion, " Of course, the only other option was brown. Brown's so dull!"

"God Feli, you're so fucking gay." Lovino rolled his eyes, lifting the glasses to meet them. "Now let's see what he's up to…"

"What's he doing?"

Lovino peered through the binoculars into the other Nation's window. "It looks like he's cooking something…there's a big pot on the stove."

"That's good! We like to cook!"

"Yeah, but not like America. Have you seen the shit he eats?"

"Ve…What's he doing now?"

"Still cooking."

The older Italy checked. "Still cooking."

There were a moment of silence.

"…What about now?"

Lovino lowered the binoculars and turned to face Feliciano. "Mio dio, he's still cooking. He's going to continue to cook until he's done. And when that happens, I'll be sure to tell you. But until then, he's. Still. Fucking. Cooking."

"…Hey Lov-"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear I'm going to-"

"Yo, Italies! How's it going?"

Lovino shrieked at the sudden appearance of their stalkee with pitcher of lemonade and two glasses in hand. "Please don't hurt me! I'm a relative to your country!"

"I think he's done cooking, fratello," Feliciano added helpfully.

America, oblivious to the byplay, grinned at the two. "I didn't know the two of you bird watched."

"It's not what it-wait, what?"

"You looked hot out here so I thought I'd bring you some lemonade," America lifted the pitcher he was holding.

Lovino stared at the pitcher before frantically turning to his brother. "He's on to us!"

The Italian brothers whipped out their white flags, turned on their heel, and began running for the hills.

"Huh? Where are you guys going? You just got here!" America yelled at their retreating forms. "I'm making pasta!"

Feliciano and Lovino stopped on a dime, faced each other, and quickly ran backwards.

"What did you say?" Feliciano asked with hopeful eyes.

"…I'm making pasta?"

Feliciano began to tear up. "He likes pasta…Fratello, he likes pasta! That's definitely proof, right?"

Lovino nodded. "Definitely. What Italian doesn't like pasta?"

"So…are you guys coming, or what?"

Feliciano nodded enthusiastically, walking towards the front door. "I would love to have some of your pasta!"

"There will be tomato sauce, right?" Lovino asked suspiciously.

"Duh! Who eats pasta without sauce?"

Lovino beamed, sharing a smile with his brother.

"I already poured it out of the jar, so I just need to nuke it in the microwave."

Lovino stopped short, a horrified look crossing his face. "Did you just say that you eat _jarred_ tomato sauce?"

"Yeah," America said. "It's the only way I ever make it."

"I think I'm having heart palpitations…" Lovino said faintly. Feliciano gently guided Lovino to a chair and handed him a brown paper bag that was lying on the table.

"It's ok, Lovi, I'll take care of it." Feliciano turned back to America. "Ve, America, have you ever tried to make it fresh? You know, from scratch?"

"I considered it once," the Superpower admitted, "but the only way I was ever taught to cook was by Arthur, so I thought it would be safer to just buy it already made."

"He has a point," Feliciano whispered to his brother.

"Fucking eyebrows messed up _our_ kid's heritage. That's it; I'm taking matters into my own hands." Lovino stood up abruptly. "Ok, bastard, where do you keep the essentials?"

"Fratello! " Feliciano said, scandalized, "You can't speak to him like that! He's only a child!"

"Hey, I haven't been a kid since the 1700s!" America pouted.

"You're right," Romano said, ignoring America's outcry. "I'm being a terrible mother. Father! Father dammit!" Lovino took a deep breath. "America, where in your kitchen do you keep the essential ingredients?"

"Essential ingredients?"

"You know, tomatoes, olive oil, onions, parsley, basil….Every Italian kitchen has these!"

"But we're in America...I'm America. I don't have that kind of stuff lying around in the house. At least I don't think I do…And even if I do, I have no idea where."

Lovino stared, eye twitching. "I blame that bastard England."

Feliciano, for once in his life, took charge. "You search for ingredients, I'll head to the corner market and to get some seasonings, and you can call me with a list of things you need."

"Get some fresh mozzarella and a loaf of Italian bread too. We can make some bruschetta."

"I'm on my way!" Feliciano

"Hold on a sec, why are we getting these things? The meal's already made," America protested.

"There's no way in Hell I'm letting you eat that merda! I'm making it fresh right now."

"But that'll take hours! I want to eat right now!"

"I don't want to hear it. That canned abomination is not meant for a palate such as yours."

"Uh...ok…" America said before turning to leave.

"And just where do you think you're going, mister?"

"TV? Video games? Bed?"

"No, I won't allow it. You need to learn how to make this like a good Italian."

"But I'm America…"

"WHEN YOU ARE IN MY HOUSE YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME!"

"But Romano…this is my house …"

"Don't get smart with me. You are going to learn how to make this sauce, and you are going to like it," Romano said sternly.

"Yes, _Mom_" America said, rolling his eyes.

Lovino's heart skipped a beat. "Did you just call me 'Mom'?" America blinked and then hesitantly nodded. "This is the proudest day of my life," Lovino wiped a tear away and whipped out his phone.

"Feli guess what? Ame-Yeah yeah, that's great. But you need to listen- I don't care that the petunia's are on sale, will you please just shut up and-Are you crying? For fuck's sake Feliciano, how old are you? Ok, ok, get the plant if it will make you happy. Now can I please talk? I did call you for a reason, you know." Dramatic pause. "America called me Mom!"

A cry of joy was heard from the other end of the line. "I know! He's taking it so well. I mean it's only been a day and he's already accepted me!"

America stared confused as the elder brother spoke rapidly breaking in and out of Italian for a few minutes before switching topics.

"I need to go, but I think we need some parmesan reggiano. I couldn't find any in the fridge. Can you pick some up?"

"Romano?"

"Hold on America, I'm on the phone. Yeah, you know the one we like."

"But I have the cheese."

Lovino covered the phone with one hand and turned to the taller Nation. "Are you sure? I didn't see any."

"Yeah, I grated it myself a bit before you showed up."

Romano stared in awe. "Did you hear that Feli? He grated the cheese. All by himself! And it was Italian cheese! I know! England didn't fuck up entirely! There's still hope! They grow up so quickly. Yeah, alright. Ciao."

America gazed at Lovino before glancing warily around the room. "Am I being Punk'd or something? You're kind of starting to freak me out a little. I don't think I've never seen you happy."

"It's just, I've been so neglectful. But you, you remember your roots. And it makes me so proud." Lovino's voice faltered for a moment and he quickly rubbed his eye.

"…Right. So…about that sauce…"

"Si, si, the sauce. Come here and watch what I do."

* * *

"Lovino, America! I'm back! How's the sauce coming?" Feliciano shouted as he struggled through the door with arms full of groceries.

"Feliciano, come quick! You have to see this!"

"Is something wro-Mio dio, is he stirring the sauce?"

"Yeah," Lovino said smiling.

"All by himself?"

"All by himself. He picked it up pretty quickly, too."

Feliciano watched in wonder as America stirred with purpose. "The pasta, the cheese, the sauce…he must be our little brother!"

"It is starting to look like it, isn't it?"

"But then why didn't we know about him? And why is he all the way across the ocean and not by us?"

"I have no idea. But from now on, it's up to us to raise him. We'll teach him what it's like to be an Italian."

"You mean to run away from anything that comes our way?"

"Ye-No! No, America is strong; he will be the force behind our empire."

"Then maybe he can teach us _not_ to run away from battle?"

"Let's be honest for a moment, Feli, no one can teach us that."

"Ve…"

"Hey Italies," America said with a grin as he turned to the brothers, "This was actually pretty fun. As long as I'm getting back to my roots, maybe I'll ask Germany to come over soon. I have a lot of German in me, after all."

Lovino froze before turning to glareat his brother. "You _didn't_."


	3. Chapter 2

**Holy shit! MoonClaimed (best beta ever!) told me this story was going to be a hit, but 10 reviews for a single chapter? You blew me away! I might have almost been in tears at some point. You guys are the best.**

**And now to make you hate me. I haven't exactly written chapter 3 yet, so it might take a bit of time before the next chapter is posted...Don't kill me!**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"America, are you ready to go?" Lovino yelled impatiently.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" America's voice drifted down the stairs.

"Ve~ I'm so excited to take our boy to an Italian opera!" Feliciano chirped.

The sound of a door opening and closing rang through the house before America ran down the stairs, throwing on his bomber jacket. "Ok, dudes, let's go."

Lovino and Feliciano stared at America.

"America," Lovino complained, "I thought we told you to dress nice."

"I am dressed nice. Look, I'm not wearing my ripped jeans."

"But you're still in jeans. And a T-shirt. And fucking sneakers! We can't take you to the opera dressed like that! You'll bring shame to the Vargas name!"

Willfully ignoring the last part of that sentence, America frowned. "But...this is what I always wear."

Feliciano whimpered. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope! I don't really do dress clothes. They're so uncomfortable."

"Well you can't go out like _that_!" Romano waved his hand at America's ensemble. "Where's your room? We'll find you something to wear. If there's something Italians know, it's fashion."

"Umm...ok...Follow me, I guess..." America led them up the stairs and opened the door to his room.

Lovino and Feliciano made a bee-line for America's closet.

"I really don't think that you'll find much, though. I never wear suits or anything. I used to have one England gave me, but that was like 300 years ago..."

"T-shirt, T-shirt, T-shirt..." Lovino paused as he found a solitary blue button up shirt, wrinkled and lightly stained. "What the fuck kind of closet is this?"

"Ve, what are we going to do, fratello?" Feliciano said, biting his lip. "We can't go to the opera unless America is dressed properly!"

America crossed his arms over his chest, cheeks puffed out in a pout. "I really don't get what's wrong with the clothes I'm wearing..."

Lovino slapped him. "Don't you ever say that again! Fucking England teaching our boy it's alright not to care about his appearance..." Lovino sighed. "We have no choice. We'll have to go the night after tomorrow instead."

America frowned, not even bothering to rub his cheek-the Italies really were weak. "I don't think I'm going to have a chance to go shopping before we go..."

"Ve, don't worry, we'll take care of it!"

* * *

"Man, what a long day," America sighed, walking though through the door and throwing his jacket on the couch.

"America? Is that you?" Romano asked, moving into America's view.

"Romano? What are you – why are you – how did you get in my house?"

Romano stared blankly at America. "I'm South Italy. I know people."

"People?"

"People."

"What kind of people?"

"…Seriously?"

"Yeah," America asked innocently. "Are they like a locksmith or something?"

"Sure…let's go with that. Anyway, Feli and I have a present for you."

"A present?" the younger Nation cheered, all but bouncing. "Really? That's so cool! What is it?"

Lovino smirked. "I can't tell you that, it would ruin the surprise!"

"But…but present…" America pouted.

"It's right upstairs. Come with me and I'll show you," Lovino said.

America smiled widely, practically pushing Lovino out of the way to race up the stairs. Once on top, he quickly threw his door open.

And stared.

"…Who are you?"

"Oh, Alfredo, you're back, ve! This is Mr. Russo. He's going to make you a nice suit!" Feliciano beamed.

"A suit? But why do I need – Did you just call me Alfredo?"

"Si! Alfredo is so much better than Alfred! It's Italian."

"Damn straight it is," Lovino huffed, finally making it into the room.

"But my name's Alfred…And I'm not Italian."

Feliciano gently took America's hand. "I know this is a difficult time for you, but it's ok; we're here for you. We'll get you through this."

"And what better way than with a nice Italian suit? Now come here Alfredo. I need to measure you," Mr. Russo said.

America stared dumfounded at the tailor. "I really don't see how a suit fixes anything."

Lovino gasped. "Alfredo! How could you say such a thing? A good Italian suit can save the world! Now go get measured!" He pushed America to the tailor.

Mr. Russo whipped out a tape measure. "Ok, now hold out your arms."

America did as he was told. "So…where am I supposed to wear this thing?"

"Well you're going to break it in at the opera, but it can be used at many other places," Lovino answered.

"Such as…?"the blond asked skeptically.

"The theater," Lovino said.

"The ballet," Feliciano chimed in.

"Dinner."

"Meetings."

"Church."

"A walk in the park."

"Dates."

"The mall."

"Concerts."

"Dancing."

"Weddings."

"Funerals."

"Basketball games."

"The office."

"The doctor's office."

"Picnics."

"The post office."

"College classes."

"Interviews."

"Uh-huh," America said slowly, looking from one to the other. "…Is there ever a time you don't wear suits?"

"Plenty. Cooking, cleaning, tomato harvesting, beating up Spain…"

"But I'm not going to have to wear suits all the time, right?"

Feliciano frowned. "Of course you are! You're West Italy!"

"West…Italy?"

"Si, you're one of us! And you're across the sea. West Italy," Lovino nodded.

"I think you're a little confused." He gestured to his chest. "I'm America. You know, the hero?"

Feliciano's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Exactly, you're America. And you're our America."

America turned his attention back to Mr. Russo in desperation. "You don't think I'm Italian…do you?"

"You've been misraised, that's for sure," the man muttered before smiling encouragingly, "but I'm sure in time we can straighten you out."

"Now I know how Canada feels…" America sighed.

The Italies watched, tissues in their hands, as Mr. Russo worked on America. "Our little boy is getting his first custom Italian suit…This may be the proudest day in my life," Feliciano sniffled.

"They grow up so fast!" Lovino cried, throwing his face into his brother's chest.

* * *

"Ve, are you ready yet, Alfredo?" Feliciano asked.

"I just need a minute to tie my shoes!"

"I wish he'd hurry up," Lovino grumbled. "This is like waiting to see your kid come out in their prom dress…"

"Except Alfredo's not a girl!" He considered that for a moment. "Although I'm sure he would look very pretty in a dress if he wanted to wear one!"

"Ok, I'm coming!" America stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him and slowly descending the stairs. "So…how do I look?"

Feliciano and Lovino gaped at him.

"That bad, huh?" America laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I'll just go and take it off..."

"NO!" The Italies shouted in unison.

"You look magnifico, ve!"

"Handsome."

"Dashing."

"Mature."

"Sophisticated."

"But most of all…"

"You look Italian!" they cried together.

"Uh…thanks, I guess…" America said confusedly.

"Are we ready to go? I don't want to be late," Lovino hummed, eyes still shining proudly.

"I left my phone in my room. Let me just go grab it." America spun on his heel and ran up the stairs.

Or tired to, anyway.

About halfway up he collided into something. Or rather, someone. Lovino and Feliciano froze.

"Hallo America," the silver-haired giant smiled, eyes closed, at his friend.

"Oh, hey Russia! What are you doing here? And can you please start using the front door? You know it freaks me out when you come in from…actually, how did you get in today?" America asked, puzzled.

"Silly America, the front door is no fun. I came in through the window of your second floor bathroom!"

"Oh, ok. Well as long as it was a normal way this time."

"Da! But where do you think you're going? You know we had a…a…" Russia's eyes widened as he opened them for the first time, taking in America in all of his suit porn glory.

"Yeah, sorry about that, dude. The Italies are dragging me to some opera. It was really last minute. I was actually just about to call you. …Is something wrong? You haven't blinked in like 5 minutes."

"D-da," Russia stuttered. "You...you look good," he whispered, blushing.

Lovino's eyes narrowed and he stomped up the stairs, pushing past America and standing on the step below Russia.

"What do you think you're doing, you commie bastard?"

Russia blinked. Was Romano willingly speaking to him? _A new friend!_

"Hallo little Italies! I am here to see America. We're supposed to go ice skating tonight before you rudely made plans without informing me."

"Don't lie to me." Lovino raged. "You're trying to make a move on my boy. I won't allow it!"

Russia stared in confusion. "Your boy? You mean…" Russia turned to face America, tears welling in his eyes. "You already became one with them?"

"Wha-no! Dude, I would never-"

"That's right you would never, mister." Feliciano raced up the stairs and poked his finger into America's chest several times. "My little Alfredo is not going to go sleeping around."

The Superpower blinked down at the tiny man poking his chest. "I'm not?"

"That's right, you're not. And you," Feliciano seethed, the courage of being an angry big brother bulldozing over his usual fear, "you're trying to corrupt him! But you're not good enough for him. _No one_ is good enough for Alfredo."

"But…we are just going ice-" Russia blinked as he suddenly found himself on America's front porch with the door slammer in his face. "Skating…What just happened?"


	4. Chapter 3

**At long last, the England chapter has arrived! If you were hoping for someone else, let me know who! I have a few appearances in mind for later, but I'm open to suggestions!**

**The fantastical MoonClaimed sorted through my monstrosity of a draft and made it all nice and enjoyable! Hooray for awesome betas!**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"Hey, fratello?" Feliciano called from the kitchen.

"Hmm?" Lovino hummed, flipping through the channels in the living room.

"You know how America is a girl's name?"

"Yeah, so what?" Lovino answered indifferently.

"Well, wouldn't that make America a girl?"

Lovino paused mid-click and turned to his brother. "No, he can't be a girl. He's…America."

"Exactly! Think about it Lovi!" Feliciano said, sticking his head around the wall to meet his brother's stare. "He's self conscious about his weight and his looks and his fashion sense – Oh, wait, that one is an Italian thing…But still, it makes sense!"

Lovino considered the notion for a moment before smiling. "You know, Feli, you might just get to see America in a dress yet."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Arthur, they've gone insane! They won't leave me alone and they keep trying to make me Italian. I don't want to be Italian, Iggy. I can't be the hero if I'm Italian!" America cried, pausing when he heard the doorbell and glancing out the window. "Hold on a sec, dude. Someone's at the-" America froze when he saw who was standing on his porch. He quickly ducked down, crouching below the window line. "Oh no…" he whispered. "It's _them_. Artie, you gotta save me. I don't know how much more of them I can take. Did you know they started calling me 'Alfredo'?" A shout was heard from the other end of the line and the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. And-

"For fuck's sake, Feli, stop pushing the god damn button!" Lovino shouted from the other side of the door.

"Help me…"America whimpered before hanging up. After taking a deep breath, he walked to the door, opening it to see a pair of grumpy Italians.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here ag-" Lovino gruffly grabbed America's arm, dragging him to his bedroom, Feliciano following with arms full of shopping bags. "Oh, ok, we can talk in my room, that's cool too." Sitting on the bed, he looked up at the twins, who were staring at him with their eyes narrowed and their arms crossed. "Umm…Is something wrong?"

"You've been lying to us, America. We don't like it when you lie to us," Feliciano said.

"What? No I haven't!" America protested.

"Don't lie to us, Alfredo. Or should I say, _Alfreda_!" Lovino shouted.

"I don't know what you- Alfreda? Isn't that a girl's name?"

"Aha! So you admit it!" Lovino cried.

"Admit what? What's going on?"

Feliciano placed the bags on the floor and walked over to America, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's ok, dear. There's no need to hide it. We're here for you."

"Wh-But-Huh?"

"We've bought you some nice new clothes. Appropriate clothes."

"Oh no…it's not another suit, is it?" America groaned.

"No, honey, you don't need to wear those anymore," Feliciano said, walking to America's closet.

"Oh thank god. They're so uncom-"

"Or these." He pulled out all of America's clothes, piled them messily in his arms, and walked toward the door.

"Wait! Where are you going with those?" America cried after him.

"Don't worry, we'll burn them for you. Just try on the clothes in the bags Feli brought in. We'll be right outside when you're done," Lovino said, closing the door behind him as he stepped out.

"Uh…ok." A beat. "Wait, did you say burn?" After a minute of silence, America sighed in defeat. _Well, I guess it couldn't hurt to look…_ America gingerly put his hand in one of the bags and pulled out the contents. _Or maybe it could…_

"Hey, um, Romano?"

"Are you done already?" His voice was muffled by the door.

"No, I think there's some sort of mistake. These bags, they're filled with girls clothes. Dresses. Lots of dresses," he replied, opening the door.

"No, that's right," Lovino nodded.

"…But I'm America."

"That's right, you're Ameri_ca_."

"…I'm confused."

"A proper lady should dress nicely. I won't have my little girl dressing like a slob," the smaller nation admonished.

"G-Girl?!" America cried, stepping back a little in surprise. "Dude, I think you must've hit your head. I'm a guy."

"What did I say about lying to me? And another thing: no saying "dude". It's very unbecoming. And a stupid word. How will we ever find you a suitor if you continue to speak like that?"

"But I'm not lying! I-" America was interrupted by Feliciano shouting from around the corner.

"Die you stupid piece of flannel! Die!"

A beat.

"I'm a guy!" America exclaimed, ignoring the younger Italian's outburst. "Do you want me to show you?"

"No! Alfreda, how could you even suggest such a thing! I didn't raise you to be a tramp!"

"Actually, you didn't raise me at all…" America protested meekly.

"What did I say about getting smart with me?"

"Not to…" America huffed. "But seriously, I'm not wearing these."

"I thought you might say that. Time for plan B. Hold on…" America watched Lovino reach into a bag-

"Is that a Big Mac I smell?"

Lovino smiled. "I bought it just for you."

"Really? Oh dude, that's awesome!" America yelled, reaching for the bag.

Lovino pulled his hand back. "Nah-ah-ah," he tsked. "No dress, no burger." And with that, he slammed the door.

America blinked. "You know I could just break down the door, right?"

"But this is your house. Do you really want to do that?"

"No…"America sighed. He turned and glared at the monstrosity on his bed, hoping he could burn it with his eyes. When no laser beams appeared, he sighed again, weighing his options. _Well, I guess I have no choice_.

"Romano?" he called again.

"Hmm?"

"You're going to want to move."

"What are you-" America didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence, instead charging at the door screaming. As he banged into it, he heard a girly shriek on the other side and saw a flash of curl. Stumbling over the debris, he dusted himself off and turned to Lovino, who was on the ground, glaring at him.

"What? I told you to move…" He stepped forward and picked up the dropped burger. "Let me make this clear. I am America. I do not wear girls clothing and I never will."

"You mean…" Feliciano sniffled, appearing at the end of the halls. "You mean you don't like the clothes we bought you?"

"No, it's not that, it's just that-"

"You hate them!" he bawled. "Fratello, America hates the clothes I picked out for her!"

"Great, now look what you've done. Do you know how long it takes to calm him down?" Lovino said, glowering at America.

"I didn't mean to! It's ok, Italy, don't cry! The clothes are nice, they're really nice!"

"Really?" Feliciano whimpered.

"Yeah, I'm sure that any girl would love them!" America beamed.

"So…you'll wear them?" The Italian looked up hopefully.

"That's not what I-" America froze, seeing the crestfallen face. Why was it that they were calling _him_ a girl when Italy was the one using tears to get his way? "Fine…" he sighed.

"Oh, grazie, grazie Alfreda! I'm sure you'll look very pretty in them!" Feliciano cried.

"Uh…yeah, sure…"

"Alfreda, why don't you go shower. And shave. I've seen those legs. Not very feminine. You can change into the dress afterwards," Lovino said.

America nodded, a defeated look on his face. "Just don't look in here…"

Lovino looked appalled. "We would never! A young lady needs her privacy."

"But I'm-"

"Hush now, dear," Feliciano said, pushing him to the bathroom door. "I've replaced your soaps with some nice floral ones, too. We'll be in the kitchen if you need us!"

America turned around to object, but instead was met with a face full of door. "…Rose shampoo? Seriously? Mattie'll never let me live this down…"

* * *

The sound of the doorbell filled the air and an impatient huff could be heard from outside. Inside, the bell went ignored.

"Get that stuff away from me!" America shouted.

"Ve? But Alfreda, it'll make you pretty!"

_Ding dong._

"I'm a dude, we don't wear that!"

_Whap!_ "Ow, dude! What was that- Did you just hit me with a loaf of bread?"

_Ding dong._

"No talking back to your mother. It's rude," Lovino said sternly, looking down at America.

_Ding dong._

"This is so not cool…Hey! Stay away with that!"

"ALFRED, LET ME IN YOU BLOODY GIT!"

"Ooh, a visitor! I'll get it, ve~" Feliciano left his older brother to deal with his younger one. _I wonder who it is_, he thought, frolicking trough the house. Not even bothering to look through the peephole, he threw the door open. "Buongiorno, England!"

"England's here?" America piped up from the other room. "Iggy! You've come to save me!" America sprang out of the chair the Italians had bullied him into and ran to the living room.

"You call me over for an emergency, the least you can do is-" England froze, seeing America for the first time. Running out in a long blue and white Lolita dress complete with frills and ruffles (and lifting the hem so he wouldn't trip over it) was his former colony. To complete the look, the Italies had put on a long straight sandy wig and even applied what appeared to be eye makeup and lip gloss

"Artie, I knew you'd come for me!" he shouted, running over to his brother…and missing him by about four feet, slamming into a wall instead.

"Ow…" he whimpered, bringing a hand up to his nose. "I can't see anything without Texas…"

Engalnd and Feliciano stood still, silent awe on their face. Their little boy looked so cute dressed like this, especially with his blue orbs shining with tears.

"I don't know what you've done to him," England said, turning to Italy, "but I approve. I always thought he would look adorable in a dress as a kid. I never thought I'd get to see him in one!"

"Bonjour Amerique! I-" Francis blinked, staring at the stronger nation on the floor. "Ohonhonhon, getting back into our French roots are we?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Ah, how he loved the French Quarters in America's New Orleans – seemed the boy was finally getting into the spirit of things.

"Wha-no! It's not like that!" America protested.

"Don't get any ideas, you pervert. We're just turning Alfreda into a proper lady," Lovino growled, walking into the room.

"Lady? What the bloody hell are you on about?" England griped. His boy looked good in a gown, obviously, but it wasn't something a gentleman should gallivant around in in public!

"Artie, you gotta help me. They think I'm a girl!"

"Well to be fair, he does make a pretty cute one," Francis winked, promptly being slapped by his lover.

"How dare you make a move on him, you bloody frog!" England yelled before taking a deep breath. "Now what's this about Alfred being a girl?"

"America is a female name, so he must be a girl!" Feliciano chirped.

"That may be, but he's a boy. I think I would know; I did raise him, after all."

"That may be true (and what a fucking terrible job you did there), but did you ever, you know, see him?"

England blinked. "Well, no, I suppose I didn't."

"America," a childish voice said, "why didn't you tell me you were having a party?" Russia tilted his head from the front door. Sometimes coming in the normal way shocked his favorite nation more than a creepy stalker way.

America yelped, jumping to his feet and hiding behind Feliciano. "Don't look at me!" he cried.

Russia blinked before striding forward and placing the Italian gently aside. Then he turned back. Eyes wide and mouth agape, the large nation couldn't help but gawk America, who was attempting to hide his face with his hands. Grabbing his arms and gently pulling them away, Russia continued to stare silently. America looked up at him, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. His mind was racing trying to figure out what was going on inside of the Russian's head. The silver haired nation began to blush and released one arm while turning around and silently dragging the younger one to the door.

"Hey!" Lovino shouted, rushing over to meet the larger man. "Didn't I already tell you to stay away from her?" Russia opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by an irate Feliciano.

"We told you that Alfreda won't be going anywhere with you," he growled, tearing Russia's hand off of America's.

"Now hold on a minute!" England shouted. "_I'm_ the one who raised him…her…America. If anyone should decide who he or she gets to be with, it's me!"

"Calm down, Angleterre. America isn't yours anymore," France said, grabbing his lovers' hand.

"I don't care if the little heshe isn't my colony any more, America's still my younger sibling!"

"No way in hell am I letting Alfreda back under your wing, you bastard! You've already caused too much irreversible damage. There's no telling what you would do if we let you have her back. Besides, America's West Italy. She's one of us."

"_West Italy_? He was an English colony, how could he possibly be Italian?" England raged at the Italies.

"While little Italies and England argue, I go out with America, da?" Russia smiled.

"Oh no, you're staying right here!"

"For once I agree with the tea bastard. Alfreda isn't going anywhere."

"Wait a minute, guys…" America asked. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"No!" the nations shouted in unison.

America stared, shocked before hanging his head. "…I want to go to Canada's house. No one will ever find me there."


	5. Chapter 4

**My goodness this is a busy chapter! So many people crammed into one room… Didn't quite know how they would deal with each other. But hey, no one died, so that's a success, right? ...Right?  
**

**Guess who beta-ed? That's right, the lovely MoonClaimed! This story would be nothing without her assistance.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

At the sound of a doorbell, Canada glanced at the clock. _I wonder who that could be at this time of night… Only 3 people remember I exist anyway, and one of them's the mailman. Though I'm pretty sure he remembers the house more than me…_

Getting up from the sofa, Canada made his way to the door, whose bell was being abused. "I'm coming," he whispered. Finally arriving, he opened the door.

"Al? What are you doing here?" He paused. "…And what are you wearing?"

"Mattie!" America cried, throwing himself onto his brother. "Mattie, you gotta help me! I thought Artie would've but then he turned on me…I have no one else to turn to!" He looked up from his brother's chest, tears glistening in his eyes.

"Uh…sure Al. But you still haven't told me what's wrong." _Or why you're in drag_. Canada wrinkled his nose in confusion. "…Do you smell roses?"

"It's the Italies! They've gone crazy! They think I'm one of them. And that I'm a girl. And then they made me wear this dress and put on make-up…Please Mattie, help me! They'll never think to look here!"

Mattie sighed, used to the strange conundrums his brother often got caught up in. "Sure, Al. You know your way around the house."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" America shouted, bolting past the doorway.

"You're welcome," the Canadian smiled. "I have the hockey game on; please don't switch the channel."

"You don't have to worry about that," America sighed, flopping on the couch. "I think I'd rather just lie here a little and relax."

_Did I hear correctly? Al just wants to relax? He's not all hyper and doesn't want to accidentally hit me in the face with a baseball?_ Canada could feel tears of joy rising to the surface._ I don't know what the Italies are doing, but I'm not complaining!_

"Hey, Mattie?"

"Yes, Al?" Canada asked, sitting down in the recliner to continue watching the game.

"Can I borrow some clothes? I'd really rather not keep wearing this frilly thing."

Canada thought for a moment after the initial shock of his brother being considerate was over. While he understood why his brother wanted a change of clothes (honestly, who wouldn't?), he couldn't help but enjoy the fact that nobody would be able to confuse the two of them if America kept cross dressing. He knew he was supposed to be the nicer of the two, but the opportunity to humiliate his brother was just sitting on a silver platter. Besides, since when had Alfred ever not taken advantage of his brother?

"Well, I-" Canada was cut off at the sound of his phone ringing. "Hold on a minute, eh?" Canada pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before bringing it up to his ear. "Bonjour, Papa."

"Matthieu! I was just at America's house and he was in a dress! It was simply adorable!" Canada smirked. It was always fun seeing his brother suffer a little. "Since he looked so good, England and I are coming to your house next! You're going to be so cute!"

France continued speaking, but Canada tuned him out, slowly lowering the phone and hitting the "end call" button.

"Alfred?" he asked dazedly.

"Yeah, Matt?"

"…We need to leave. Now."

"What? But I just got here! And you haven't even made me pancakes!"

"Papa just called…He and Arthur are on their way."

"What? No way! They weren't supposed to find me here! Did they really have to choose now to remember you?"

Choosing to ignore the comment, Canada grabbed his car keys and headed to the door. "Let's go, Al."

"Wait, what about my clothes?"

"They'll have to wait. Close the door behind you, eh?" America followed Canada out the door and into his car.

With the car doors closed and the key in the ignition, Canada paused and turned to his twin. "…Seriously, do you smell roses?"

* * *

"Alfred-san," Japan said calmly, kneeling in front of the North American twins, "If what you have told me is true, I will offer any assistance I can, though I do not know how much help I will be." He took a sip of his tea. "But I do not understand: why are you still in the dress?"

"They burned my clothes! I know they said they were going to, but I thought they were just joking. And then I saw the smoldering pile in the backyard as I ran away. I have nothing else to wear…"

Japan eyed America. He did look quite good as a girl. Cosplay antics kicking in, Japan stood up. "Hold on a minute, please," he said before swiftly walking out of the room.

"Again, it smells like roses…"

Japan strode back into the room, a colorful fabric in his hand. "Here, put this on."

America frowned. "I dunno, man, it looks kind of girly."

"Says the man in the frilly dress," Canada smirked.

"Besides, I don't even know how to put it on," he continued, pointedly ignoring his brother.

"I can help you with that. Come," the Asian said softly, standing up once again and walking back out of the room. America looked at his brother and shrugged before following his friend because, who knew, maybe floral patterns were the height of masculine fashion in Japan.

Canada smiled, going to sip his own tea, freezing as the cup touched his lips.

"Huh. Roses are gone."

* * *

"Hey, are you almost done? You've been working on it for awhile now," Alfred complained.

"One minute please. You had terrible wig hair." Japan pulled on a few more strands. "Alright, it's finished."

"Thanks so much, dude. You don't know how much I appreciate this." America stood up and walked back out into the main sitting room. "Hey Mattie! How do I look?"

Canada, who had been contemplating the varieties of maple (and trying to choose his favorite), looked up. He stared for a moment, trying to keep a straight face. And failing when his muffled snickers turned into a hearty laugh.

"What's wrong? Does it look that bad?" America pouted.

Canada wiped his eyes. "No," he giggled. "It looks great, _Alfreda_."

"'Alfreda'? What are you talking about?" America asked, cocking his head. Canada continued his fit and pointed to a mirror in the corner.

Furrowing his brow, the heshe walked over and gaped.

"…Kiku?" he asked tentatively.

"Hai, Alfred-san?"

"I don't think this is guy's clothing." He paused, gazing at his reflection again. "…And what did you do to my hair?"

"I apologize," Japan said, bowing his head. "But it suits you nicely."

"How does _this_ suit me?" America fumed, grabbing the green floral printed fabric of the furisode. "And the hair!" he yelled, looking in the mirror. "This is like a geisha styled thing! You even have the flower!"

"It just didn't look right without the kanzashi."

"But…why? Why would you do this to me? I thought I could trust you," he sniffed, tears welling in his eyes.

_Just as I suspected. It does look very good on him_. "I am sorry, Alfred-san. I don't know what came over me," Japan said, bowing once more.

"Well I guess it's ok…I mean, no one else can see me like this any- Mattie! Did you just snap a picture?"

"Of course not, Alfie," Canada said innocently, slipping his phone into his pocket. He paused. "The roses are back…"

America shifted his eyes around nervously. "France must be near."

Canada stared, horrified. "Oh no. Papa said he'd come." Canada grabbed the collar of his brother's kimono. "I don't want to be a girl, Al!"

"Join the club…" America muttered under his breath.

"I have the perfect disguise, Canada-san," Japan said, pulling out a second kimono.

"…I'm good."

Japan went to protest when the door slid open. "Ah, good afternoon, Heracles-san."

"Morning Kiku, Canada," he said, nodding at America.

"Actually, I'm over here…" Canada said.

Greece glanced at the quiet nation. "Hm? But then who's this?"

"America," the superpower sighed.

"How did you confuse us like this?" Canada grumbled. "I look the same as usual!"

"Let's be honest, Matt. You're not exactly the 'masculine' type," America mused.

"Again, says the man in the dress," Canada mocked.

"Says the man who got confused for the man in the dress. Besides, this is a kimono," America corrected, raising his nose in the air.

"You've got flowers in your hair. Still counts."

"Sorellina!" Feliciano called from outside. "Fratello's here!"

America stiffened before looking around hurriedly. Spotting what he was looking for, he dashed inside a closet, slamming the door behind him.

The door flew open and the Italies walked in, a hulking Russia standing behind them.

"We know America's here, so you'd better hand her over, bastards," Lovino huffed, crossing his arms.

"He's in there," Canada said, pointing at the closet.

"Oh, Canada, you're here! That's great! My two siblings are here together!" Feliciano ran towards the invisible nation, throwing his arms around him.

"What are you talking about, Italy? I'm Alfred's brother, not yours."

"Exactly! You're Alfred's brother, so you're mine as well! You're East Italy!" he cried.

"But ," Canada looked around for help but came up empty handed, "I'm to the west of you…"

"You don't understand? Here, I'll show you." Feliciano pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. "Now, see? You draw a circle," he did so in demonstration, "and that's the Earth! It's not flat like we thought it was! You can go in _both _directions. So even if you're to the west of us, now you can be east of us too!"

"Feli, I don't think that's how it works…" Lovino said, rubbing his temple.

"Of course it is, fratello! Don't you know anything?"

"Excuse me, but weren't you looking for Alfred?" Canada asked, silently praying for the focus to go off of him.

"Ve? Oh, that's right! Where did you say he was?"

"In the closet."

_So not cool, Matt_, America thought from behind the door.

Lovino rushed to the door, throwing it open. "Alfreda, what are you doing? Were you hiding from us?" he asked sternly. "And what happened to the pretty dress Feli got for you?"

"Oh, uh, hey guys. I was just...making something for Japan? Yeah, that's it," he said, nodding his head. "He gave me this to wear, so I thought I'd thank him."

"Really?" Romano asked, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see it then."

America froze. "Well, you see, it's not really done yet…"

"That's ok, show us what you have. You do have something, right?" Romano demanded.

"Yeah, of course I do. I just didn't want to show it until it's done, you know?" He glanced up at Romano, who was still waiting expectantly. "Let me just get it out haha," he laughed nervously, reaching and grabbing something blindly before removing it from the closet.

Romano stared blankly. "You're making him a cat?"

"Uh…yeah, apparently I am…" America blinked.

"Che cazzo you expect us to believe that-"

"Alfreda!" Feliciano yelled. "You can make cats? That's amazing; magnifico! I'm so glad you're my younger brother! Oops, I mean sister! Sorry, sorellina."

"That looks a little like one of mine…" Greece muttered.

"Alfred-san, I did not know that you made robots," Japan said with interest.

"Uh, yeah, it's the biggest rising industry in America…"America lied, shifting his eyes around.

"America, you'll make me a cat too, da?" Russia asked, placing a finger on his lip.

"Sure…Hey, how'd you find me, anyway?"

"Silly America. I followed your scent!" Russia smiled, tilting his head.

"That's so creepy," America laughed heartily.

"Alfreda, time to go, ve~" Feliciano said, tugging gently on America's arm.

"Actually, I think I should take him," Russia argued, placing a hand on the Italian's wrist. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have found him."

"How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from her?" Lovino yelled.

"For the last time, I'm not a chick!" America shouted, stamping a foot on the ground.

"Don't be silly, Alfreda, of course you're not. You're a lady." Lovino stated.

"_No_, I'm not!" America screamed, patience wearing thin. "Do you see these?" he asked, pointing to his chest. "Well, do you?" A moment of silence. "Exactly! There's nothing there. Because I'm a guy."

"Ve, it's ok, Alfreda, some women take longer to mature. They'll grow in," Feliciano said comfortingly. "And until then, we got you a padded bra. We know how delicate women are at this age. We need to do something about the color of those cheeks, though…" He leaned forward and pinched them. "There we go! Trollops rouge, lady's pinch, after all!"

"I'm not a god damn woman!"

"Hello, dears!" Hungary sang, gliding into the room.

"Elizabeta? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Japan hid a smile. America in women's clothing? Hungary owed him big time for this.

"I heard _somebody_'s been messing with my fantasies, and that America might be a girl! I can't allow that. My precious yaoi would be ruined!"

Everyone stared blankly.

"Right," Hungary said, clasping her hands, "let's get down to business, shall we?" She pranced over to America, scrutinizing him. Unfortunately, it was harder to tell than she had thought. The Nation did make a very beautiful woman... "Well, I guess there's only one way to know for sure. Apologies in advance," she smiled before firmly grasping Florida. America stiffened, choking on air and trying to hide a blush. Feliciano went to protest, but was grabbed by Lovino, who was giving him an if-you-value-your-life-you'll-stay-out-of-it look. Giving America a final fond squeeze, Hungary smiled. "Thank goodness, you really had me worried there! Bye now!" she waved, sashaying out of the house.

"Well…that was awkward," America said slowly.

"Da, _I'm_ the only one who's allowed to touch you, especially when you're dressed like this," Russia pouted.

"It's ok, dude, I'll make it up to you later."

"So…I don't have a sorellino?" Feliciano sniffled.

"If Liz left happy, I'd say no," Lovino sighed.

"Oh well, we still have two fratellini!"

"Two? What are you talking about, Feli? We only have one younger brother."

"Really? I would have sworn there were four Italies…"

"You're such an idiot, Feli."

All alone in the corner of the room, Canada sighed happily. "For once, I'm glad to have been forgotten."

"Traitor," America glared at his twin.

Bouncing back as quickly as ever, Feli grabbed America's arm. "Come on, Alfredo, let's go."

America rolled his eyes but began following the smaller nation. "At least I'm finally back to being a man."

"You're still in the furisode," Canada pointed out.

"Hate you. So much."

"See you later, Alfie," Canada smirked. He went to take a step before pausing and sniffing the air. He turned to his brother in horror as realization dawned on him. "Maple! Is that _you?_"


	6. Chapter 5

**So… College kicked my ass a little last week. Sorry 'bout that. On the plus side, since this chapter was getting so freakishly long, I decided to break it in half, so the next chapter is already mostly written!**

**Oh, I have some very exciting news. In case you haven't heard, season 5 of Hetalia has officially been announced! Production hasn't started at all, but, hey, it's coming!**

**Thanks always to the lovely MoonClaimed.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"Welcome home, fratellino!" Feliciano yelled, dragging America out of the car and showing him the front entrance of the Italians' house.

America stared blankly for a moment before turning back to face the Italian. "This isn't my house."

"Ve? Of course it is! It's the house of the Italies!" Feliciano exclaimed.

"Guys, seriously, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm America!" the blue eyed nation shouted, exasperated.

"That's right," Lovino nodded. "You're Italy America."

"…That's not what I meant."

"I know this is all so new for you, dear," Feliciano said, cupping his hands around America's, "but we'll help you get through, help you embrace your Italian."

"And forget that English fucker. He was clearly a bad influence," Lovino huffed, lifting the suitcases out of the car.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," America sighed, "but what makes you so certain I'm Italian?"

"Well that's obvious," Lovino said, a bit taken aback by the American's ignorance. _Not exactly the brightest of nations, is he? Then again, he _is _related to Feliciano. __But then, so am I and I'm fucking brilliant. Must be that English bastard's fault._ "For starters, there's your name."

"Your love of pasta," Feliciano chimed in.

"Your ability to learn how to cook Italian food."

"Your looks."

"Your enviable running away skills."

"Your willingness to demand sanctuary."

"Your hair…thing."

"Your-"

"Hold up," America interrupted. "Half of those don't even make sense. And what's this about 'my hair thing'? What the heck does that even mean?"

"Your little piece of hair that sticks up," Lovino blinked. Wasn't it obvious?

"Nantucket? What about him?"

"It was obviously supposed to be a curl."

"A curl? You mean like the ones you have?" The taller nation shook his head. "No, Nantucket's always been like this."

Lovino sighed sadly. "Britain got to him too soon...stunted his growth. Poor bastard never stood a chance."

"No, I mean it was like this before he even-"

"Fratello, are you sure it's a curl?"

"Of course, Feli. What else would it be?"

"I don't know…" The middle brother bit his lip. "It's just…weird."

"Nantucket is not weird!" America cried, only to be ignored.

"Well, I guess there's only one way to find out," Lovino said with consternation.

"Ooh, ooh, can I do it?" Feliciano bounced, raising his hand eagerly.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Knock yourself out."

Feliciano smiled before lurching at his "younger brother".

"Hey, what are you-" America turned beat red and stifled a moan.

"I think that suffices as a yes."

"I don't know, fratello, it might just be a reflex to jumping him. He _was_ partially raised by big brother Francis. Let me try again," Feliciano chirped.

"Wait, don't! I'm not into incest!" Lovino cried.

Feliciano ignored his older brother and proceeded to give the lock another sharp pull.

"C-Cut that out!" America panted, weakly pushing the hyper Italian.

"Yup, it is one!" Feliciano smiled, pulling away from the larger nation. "Hey, doesn't somebody else we know have a curl?" he asked, tilting his head.

"No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure it's just the three of us," Lovino answered.

"That's too bad. They could've been East Italy!"

_Mattie, I hate you. So much. _He couldn't bring himself to actually utter the words to remind the duo of his twin. Even Mattie didn't deserve this.

"Ve, Alfredo, what are you doing just standing there? Don't you want to change?"

America's head snapped to the younger twin. "You mean it?"

Feliciano nodded. "Germany always leaves some clothes in my dresser. They might be a little big on you, but I'm sure you'll like them better than that pretty kimono!" He thought for a minute, bringing a finger to his lip. "…Can I try it on later?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Uh…" America gawked, caught off guard. "Sure…Knock yourself out. Where'd you say you kept Germany's clothes?" he asked, shaking his head.

"The dresser in my room. It's upstairs, th-"

America grinned, eager to finally get out of girl's clothes, and gingerly lifted the hem of his robe before bolting inside the house and up the stairs, not even bothering to wait for Feliciano to finish giving directions. Opening every door until he found the right one, he snatched a grey t-shirt from the top drawer of the dresser in Feliciano's room.

"Seriously? No jeans? How does this man live?" he asked, pulling out a pair of black slacks. He was about to shut the drawer when a small package caught his eye. "No way!" he shouted, grabbing the parcel. "An unopened pair of boxers? It's like Christmas, but better!"

"Alfredo, are you alright up there?" Lovino hollered from down the stairs.

"Alright? I'm more than alright!" he called down happily. "There are fresh boxers up here! I can take off these panties now! They were really starting to dig in."

"Way too much information."

America disregarded the statement, instead choosing to tear the package open with his teeth and hold the fabric close, inhaling the fresh scent.

* * *

While America was changing, the Italies were enjoying a nice glass of wine.

"Fratello, what are we going to do? We mistook Alfredo for a girl. He can't be very happy with us…"

"Don't worry, Feli," Lovino said, sipping his wine. "We'll make it up to him. Parents make mistakes all the time, right? I'll just swing by that shitty food place he likes so much and-"

Lovino was cut off by the sound of his front door being smashed. "What the fuck?" he shrieked, turning around to see who was at the door.

There was a blur of Italy as he tackled the intruder to the floor. "Don't worry, Alfredo, I'll protect you!" he shouted from on top of the trespasser.

"What would I possibly be afraid of?" America asked, coming down the stairs clad in men's clothing once again. He paused. "There aren't any ghosts, are there?"

"SPAIN!" Lovino shouted angrily as he recognized the downed trespasser. "What the fuck do you think you're doing smashing my door in with your axe? We talked about this!"

"Hi Lovi!" Spain grinned dopily. "I'd hug you, but there's a Feliciano on me."

"Huh? Oh! Big brother Antonio! What are you doing here with Jorge?" Feliciano asked, springing off Spain.

"Well, you see, Luddy called and said that you two had been spending lots of time with America recently, and then we started thinking that maybe he was trying to get close to the two of you. But you weren't doing that, were you America?" Spain asked with a smile, turning to face the named country and raising his axe menacingly.

"What? No!" America assured, waving his hands in front of him. "I'm really glad you're here, though. I need your help-"

"Stay away from Alfredo with that!" Lovino snapped, cutting off America's plea for help. "He's not making a move on us. He's our little West Italy. We're teaching him how to be Italian."

Spain stood with a blank stare.

"Let me try explaining that a different way," Lovino sighed. He opened his mouth to speak again.

"Spain, I told you to wait until I parked the car before moving in," Germany reprimanded as he made his way inside, dabbing at his forehead with a bloody napkin.

"What was wrong with where I parked it?" Spain asked, turning to face his partner in crime.

"You parked on the lawn," Germany replied simply.

"So? Desperate times call for desperate measures," Spain shrugged.

"Ludwig!" Feliciano yelled, glomping his lover. "I didn't know you were here too!"

"What the fuck are the two of you doing here, anyway?" Lovino demanded.

"Well you see Lovi, I was in my tomato garden trying to choose which were ready to pick when this butterfly flew past. It was red, and it made me think of mi tomate. So I followed it, calling after it. 'Mi amor, mi corozan!' I shouted. But it wouldn't stop, so then I thought it really was you, and at first I was upset, but then I realized that I love you even as a butterfly! So _then_, I-"

"Antonio!" Lovino shouted, still angry with his lover. "Get to the point."

"I think maybe I should take this one…" Ludwig mumbled. Seeing that Lovino, for once, wasn't objecting (or screaming obscenities at him), he decided to continue. "It all started when I heard that America had been spending much of his time with the Italies…"

_*~Flashback~*_

_Germany rang the doorbell and waited patiently on Spain's doorstep. After a few minutes with no reply, he went to ring again when he heard the sound of laughter coming from around the house. Curious, the German walked to the back gate, careful not to stray off of the narrow walkway. Seeing Spain frolic after a butterfly, the blond man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Maybe coming here was a mistake…

_Germany strode over to the older nation, who seemed to have finally noticed him. "Hola Ludwig!" he shouted, waving fervently. "What are you doing here?"_

_"I'm sorry to bother you," the younger man apologized, "but I was wondering if you know why America has been spending so much time around Feliciano and his brother?"_

_ "I don't think so…" Spain tilted his head. "But now that you mention it, they have been spending a lot of time together. Lovi's even gone so far as to call him 'Alfredo'." He paused. "He didn't add an o to my name…"_

_Germany, long used to the foreign nation's strangeness (stupidity), ignored the absurdity of that remark. "Feliciano called him the same thing …" He frowned, furrowing his brow. "You don't think they're…with him, right?"_

_"Don't be silly, Germany," Spain smiled. "Of course America hasn't been touching Lovino."_

_"Ja, I guess you're right-"_

_"Because if he had, Jorge and I would have to pay him a visit, now wouldn't we?" he smiled manically, his axe appearing out of thin air._

_"Right. Well then." Germany stared awkwardly at the brunet before turning away abruptly and heading back to his car. He took a deep breath and buckled himself in. He was about to turn the key when the passenger door opened and Spain clamored in, axe and all._

_Germany stared, baffled. "…What are you doing?"_

_"What do you mean? I'm coming with you!" Spain exclaimed. "You said we were going to the Italies' house, right?"_

_"Well, no, I didn't-"_

_"I need to _talk_ to America. And I think you do, too."_

_Germany contemplated the thought. "I suppose a short discussion wouldn't hurt," he frowned._

_"Si, si! Vamos!"_

_*~End Flashback~*_

"And that brings us to now," Germany finished.

"Hold on. That explains why you're here, but it if you were the one driving, how was it that _that bastard_ drove across my lawn?" Lovino yelled, pointing to Spain.

"Well, sweetie, Luddy here was driving awfully slowly-" Spain explained.

"I was driving the speed limit! Apparently, your country has none." Germany interjected.

"And then, he made us stop for gas!"

"We were running on fumes!"

"And _then_, while we were at a yield sign-"

"It was a stoplight."

"-he wasn't even moving!"

"It was red!"

"So I convinced him to let me take the wheel!"

"You threw me into the rear windshield!"

"Mio dio, I can't take this. Come on Alfredo, let's go get you some new clothes." Lovino grabbed America's wrist and started pulling him to the broken mess of a door while Spain and Germany stood in disbelief. The Italians only bought clothes for people they loved.

"You're buying me new clothes?" America blinked.

"Well, we did burn all of yours. And I won't have you wearing _that_ fucker's clothes," Lovino growled, glaring at Germany.

"Awesome! I can't wait to get a pair of jeans!"

Lovino stopped in his tracks and spun on his heel. "Who said anything about jeans?"

"Huh? Well, you said you were replacing my clothes, so I thought-"

"Well you thought wrong. From now on, it's all Italian style for you. No jeans, no tees. We'll get you some suits, some nice casual wear, and a few pairs of slacks." He paused. "And shoes. Yes, many shoes," he nodded.

"But I don't wanna wear suits!"

"I can always get you a new dress," Lovino answered blankly.

"…So about those shoes?"

Lovino smiled. "That's more like it. Now come on," he said, turning back around and dragging his "brother" out the door.

Spain and Germany continued to stare after the pair.

"Ve? Ludwig, you're bleeding!" Feliciano exclaimed worriedly. "Did you fall and hit your head while telling the story? That happens to me sometimes…"

"Hm? Oh, no, that was the window." Feliciano stared with his signature blank face on. Germany sighed. "So what is going on between you and America?" he asked.

"Oh, Luddy, big brother Toni, that's right, I have wonderful news! America's West Italy! So now Lovi and I are raising him and teaching him to act like an Italian, though I think Lovi wants to become a strong nation again, which is funny because he's such a pansy. Oh, did you know Alfredo likes pasta? Fratello taught him how to make it after we saw he used the jarred stuff. And then we thought he was a girl, but don't worry, he's not. But he does look very pretty in a dress! But there's the slight possibility I might have accidentally set his clothes on fire, so now Lovi's- Oh, pasta's done!" Feliciano ran into the kitchen to turn off the buzzing timer and drain the spaghetti, leaving a dumfounded pair of nations in his wake.

"…Did he just say that they have a kid?" Spain asked, confused.

"Ja, I think so…But, which one had it?"

"I'm a daddy?" Spain asked with wide eyes.

"Hold on a moment," Germany interrupted. "What makes you so sure he's yours? America's blond with blue eyes. If anything, he's mine."

"Si, but you would've been very small when America came to be."

Germany frowned. "That is true." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, why don't we just ask them?"

"I can't ask Lovi that! You can't just ask your lover if you missed him being pregnant!" Spain cried, horrified, wincing at the thought of what Lovino would do to him if he dared ask that question.

"Wait…but wouldn't Romano have been a kid when England found America?"

"Si, but so would Feli." Spain thought for a moment. "You don't think they had him together, do you?" he asked quietly.

Germany took a second to imagine the possibility. Vividly. "Nein!" He yelled, blushing furiously. "They would never do that; they're brothers!"

"So then how do we know whose it is?"

Germany stood still for a moment, thoughts wracking his brain. "Well," he started, "I suppose we could each spend some time with him, and see which one he relates to better. Surely he'd subconsciously like his real father better than his uncle."

Spain smirked. "You're on."


	7. Chapter 6

**Don't hurt me, but you should probably get used to somewhat erratic updates. Life's really starting to pick up again. Sorry!**

**A big thank you to Chelseaj500 for pointing out some grammatical mistakes in the last chapter. If you notice something, never hesitate to tell me! Especially with foreign languages. I make enough mistakes in the languages I'm fluent in; God only knows what I do to the ones I don't speak.**

**MoonClaimed is my most awesome beta.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

A few hours later, Lovino opened the door and stepped inside, an exhausted America carrying many shopping bags right behind him.

"Ve? Fratello, is that you?" Feliciano called from up the stairs.

"Si," Lovino shouted back. "Come down and see the clothes I picked out for Alfredo." Pounding footsteps were heard above, and then they continued rushing down the staircase. He turned around to face America. "See that reaction? That's how you should act when you hear the mention of clothing."

America looked skeptical but didn't get the chance to comment before Feliciano appeared.

"Ve~ I'm ready!"

"So, the first place I took Alfredo was-" Lovino froze, having turned around and seen his brother for the first time since he arrived home. "Feli…what the fuck?"

"Don't I look pretty, fratello?" Feliciano chirped, spinning around and showing himself off in America's discarded furisode.

"No, Feliciano," Lovino hissed between his teeth. "You look like a fucking fag!"

"But I am a fucking fag," the Italian responded with confusion. "I'm gay and I sleep with Lud-"

"Don't finish that sentence!" Lovino roared. I don't need to know what you and that fucker do in your free time." He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Just go change. I'm not showing you Alfredo's new clothes until you're dressed like a man again."

Feliciano pouted. "Fine," he said. "But just so you know, you're a fucking fag too, fratello," he winked, giggling as he ran off.

"Feli, I am going to kill you!" Lovino snarled, chasing after his younger brother.

"…I thought he looked pretty…" America mumbled to himself.

* * *

After much shouting, the breaking of windows, and a cry of "Not the pasta!", the Italian twins had made it back downstairs and were digging through America's bags. The nation himself sat, bored, on the couch.

"Ooh, this one's very nice! The color goes well with his complexion," Feliciano smiled.

"Si, si! And look at the stitching on this one!"

"Wow! That's really high quality!"

"Of course it is! I'm Italian; I don't buy that cheap shit."

America sighed. He liked a good shirt as well as anyone else, but these two were obsessive.

"Hey, 'Mano?" he called lazily. "Could you not call my stuff 'cheap shit'? It's kind of offensive."

"I just call them as I see them."

Feliciano, who had been rifling through the bag, suddenly shrieked. Lovino's head snapped in his direction, big brother instincts kicking in. He readied his hand to grab Feliciano's wrist and hightail it out of there.

"Feliciano, what's wrong?" he asked urgently.

"It's…"

"What?"

"It's a… a…" Feliciano whimpered, unable to finish his sentence.

"Spit it out already!" Lovino pleaded, hand beginning to shake.

"It's a T-shirt!" he sobbed, throwing his face into his brother's chest. "Oh, fratello, why would you buy such a thing? It's infected the good leather with its mediocrity! Are you sick? Are you not feeling well? Italians don't wear anything so drab as a T-shirt!"

"I'm fine, damn it, get off!" Lovino said gruffly, pushing at his twin. "Bastard kept begging for one, and this one had his flag on it. I only bought it for him to sleep in!"

"You mean he doesn't sleep naked?" Feliciano sniffled.

America blinked. "You mean you do- Don't tell me. Don't tell me, I don't want to know!" America shouted covering his ears.

"But everyone should sleep naked! Why, Grandpa Rome-"

"I told you not to tell me! Damn it, now I'm scarred!" he cried, running out of the room and into the hallway where he slammed into Germany. "Oh, uh, hey dude. Sorry about that…" he muttered, continuing on his way.

"It's alright," Germany replied, about to make his way into the sitting room to see what ridiculous thing had made his lover shout out this time when he realized his possible son had just walked right into him. "Wait!" he called, turning around to face the shorter nation.

"Yeah?" America turned to face the German.

"Would you, erm," Germany cleared his throat. "Would you like to get a drink?" he asked, blushing heavily.

"You mean booze? Like _beer_?" America asked, wide-eyed.

"Ja…There's a decent bar not too far from here…" Germany trailed off. What if he didn't like beer? He hadn't even considered the possibility that the American wouldn't be into it, but he was Italian, and the Italies routinely grimaced at the mere _mention_ of beer. How could he be so stupid? "We don't have to of course," he sputtered. "I mean, we could always-"

"No, dude, I'm totally in. The Italies don't drink anything but wine! I'm dying over here!" America whined.

"So…you'll come?"

"Lead the way."

* * *

"This place isn't too bad," America said as he looked around, "but it doesn't have the right atmosphere, you know? Bars are supposed to be kind of loud, and dim. Seedy, almost."

"Ja, I know what you mean. But it's Italian. Bars aren't exactly their specialty."

America nodded in understanding before changing the subject. "So, dude, why'd you want to go out with me? Italy won't come?"

"Ja, like you said, they only drink wine," he grimaced. Then Germany shifted his eyes awkwardly to the side. "I also thought that maybe we could bond a little," he said, voice barely over a whisper.

America blinked. "Yeah, y'know, we never talk or see each other outside of meetings. Who knows, maybe you're actually a cool dude," he laughed, slapping the stoic nation on the back, eliciting a grunt.

The pair sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"So…" America said, trying to think of a conversation starter. "You like baseball?"

Germany stared back blankly.

"…Or not."

**18 drinks later…**

"There's no way that happened!" America laughed drunkenly.

"No, it's true! Gilbert really did that!" Germany chortled, leaning against the table to support himself.

"Dude, that's hysterical! What did she do?"

"Hit him with her frying pan, what else?"

"Frying pan?" America slapped his knee. "That's classic!"

"And then," Germany had to pause to catch his breath, "And then he fainted! Just like that!" Germany clasped a hand on America's shoulder, trying not to lose his balance as he laughed. "And that's why whenever he hears the words 'church bell', he jumps!"

"I'm trying that out! I'm trying that out, man. It just…I need to do it."

"Bring a parrot."

"A parrot? Why a parrot?"

Germany scrunched his face in thought. "I don't know. Everything's just funnier with a parrot."

"Dude, you are one funny guy. You're just…you're awesome. Yo bartender, let's get another drink for my man over here!"

Germany leaned over and grabbed the other blond by the shoulder. "You're the best son a man could ask for," he said, tearing up a little.

"Well, if I had a dad I guess I... Wait. You mean…I have a dad?" America asked, eyes lighting up. "Daddy!" he yelled, throwing his arms around the usually stiff nation, who hugged him back.

**The next morning…**

"Good morning, Luddy!" Feliciano chirped. "Did you have fun with Alfredo last night?"

"I think so…" Germany said, cradling his head over his untouched bowl of cereal. "But I really don't remember any of it."

"You too, huh?" America said, walking into the kitchen, nursing his own hangover. "I don't know what we did, but it must've been intense. We should totally go out again. But not now. Right now, I need some coffee. And a bucketful of drugs. Man my head hurts…"

* * *

The next morning, America walked into the kitchen to eat some breakfast.

"Hola, America!" Spain smiled, working with something on the counter.

"Hey, Spain. Didn't expect to see you in here. Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm making churros. Lovi loves them, but he'll never admit it," he winked. "Do you want one? The last batch is still hot."

"What are they?"

Spain nearly dropped the pastry he was currently working on. "Dios mio! You've never had a churro? Sit. You're definitely having one. A churro is a delicious Spanish pastry. It's fried dough-"

"Fried!" America sighed dreamily. It had been so long since he'd been to his beloved Mickey D's.

"-coated in cinnamon sugar."

"Sugar?!" America squealed. "It's kind of like a zeppole. I love Zeppoles!"

Lovino, who had been about to enter the kitchen, quickly turned heel and grabbed the car keys. _Zeppoles! How could I forget those? Every Italian likes them!_

Spain smiled widely at the smaller man's enthusiasm. "Well it's not exactly the same…" He grabbed a pastry and a mug and handed it to America. "And you dip them in this!"

America blinked. "Coffee?"

"No, it's hot chocolate!"

America stared in delight. "You mean you take a sugary treat and dip it in a sugary drink? Dude, you're the best! Seriously, how did I never think of this before?!" America took the stick and dunked it in the mug a few times before taking a large bite. "Oh my god… I think I'm in heaven."

Spain laughed at the blond nation's glee. "I knew you'd like them! Take as many as you want!"

"But I thought you said they were for Romano?"

"It's ok, I can make another batch. So eat up, okay?" he asked, ruffling America's hair.

"Whatever you say!" America grinned before hastily taking another churro.

* * *

The next day, Germany walked into the living room and found America lying lazily across the couch, flipping through the channels on the telly. Caught by sudden inspiration, the German walked over and stood next to him.

"Hey, America?" he asked stiffly.

"Hmm?" America hummed in acknowledgement.

"Would you like to train together?" What better way to bond with his son?

"Nah, that takes way to much effort," America yawned, continuing to change the channel.

Germany frowned. He had been certain the strong nation would be into working out, but maybe Alfred took more after Feliciano than he had thought. He let out a quiet sigh and walked into the kitchen to grab a beer.

"Hi, Luddy!" Feliciano smiled, stirring something in a pot. Seeing the forlorn expression on his lover's face, he dropped the spoon and rushed to Germany's side. "What's the matter? You look so sad!"

"It's nothing important," the blond assured.

"Please tell me, Ludwig! You don't look like you when you're gloomy," the Italian pleaded.

Germany ran a hand through his hair. "I was hoping to spend time with America. He's an Italy, so he's family. But he doesn't want to train with me."

"Oh no!" Lovino shot out of his chair at the table and marched over to the normally intimidating nation. "You already corrupted Feliciano, there's no way in hell I'm letting you near Alfredo!" he yelled in Germany's face.

"But Lovi!" Feliciano cried, clutching his older brother's hands in his own, "I love Germany, and I want him to be happy. Please help him, fratello!"

Lovino's face tinged red as he stared at his brother's tearing eyes. He never could resist the puppy eyes. "Alright, fine," he caved, pulling back. "But you owe me."

Feliciano smiled happily. "I'll buy you some new shoes."

Lovino nodded in approval. "Seems fair."

"And Ludwig and I will take Alfredo out tonight so you and Toni can have loud sex! But remember, use a condom!"

"Oh God, Feli. We are not going there!" Lovino groaned, turning beet red.

"But safe sex is important! If you need anything, I have some stuff in my nightstand. Ludwig and I-"

"FELICIANO!" Germany yelled.

"Si?" the younger twin answered obliviously.

Germany stared blankly. "Right, so…" he said awkwardly, breaking out of his stupor. "Romano, you… Romano?" he asked, waving a hand in front of that statue.

"Fratello? What's wrong?" Feliciano asked, suddenly concerned.

Lovino had a horrified look on his face, frozen save for a twitching left eye.

"Romano? Are you alright?" Germany asked, placing a hand on the half-nation's shoulder.

Lovino jumped. "Hands off, potato fucker!" he screeched.

Feliciano sighed in relief. "You had me worried for a minute, Lovi! But now that you're cursing at Ludwig again I feel better."

Germany removed his hand from Romano's shoulder. "Anyway, as I was saying, you know America better than me. Why wouldn't he want to train? He's a superpower; surely he does something to stay in shape, what with all that food he eats."

"The word training implies hard work. Alfredo's lazy when he's not working," Lovino answered in a bored tone.

"Well then, what would you suggest?"

"Hey, Alfredo!" Lovino called.

"Yeah?" America shouted back.

"Germany wants to play that stick and ball game with you."

"Dude, no way! I didn't know you played baseball! I thought you didn't like it!" America said excitedly as he magically appeared in front of the taller nation.

"Erm, I don't really…" The German shifted his eyes away. "I really only play football."

"Really? I love football!" America cheered. "I haven't seen any gear lying around, though," he added as an afterthought.

"That's because we're not slobs. We'll work on that next week," Lovino said.

"But until then," Feliciano continued, "there are some jerseys and some balls in the hall closet."

"I'm on it!" America dashed out of the kitchen and around the corner, throwing open the door. He frowned and grabbed a ball from the floor before walking back into the kitchen.

"I couldn't find a football, only this," he said simply, holding out the round black and white checkered ball.

"But that is a football," Germany said, frowning.

"No it's not."

"What are you talking about? Of course it is!" Lovino snapped. His team had made it to the finals in the Euro Cup this year (they didn't talk about the match itself, though. Bring it up and receive a head butt to the gut). He knew what he was talking about. "What the hell kind of football have you been playing?"

"No, this is a soccer ball. A football's brown and kind of shaped like a pointy oval," America explained.

"Oh, that's right. You have your own fucked up version of football. Name doesn't even make sense. You barely even kick the thing."

"It's not 'fucked up', it's awesome! It's so much better than soccer," America argued.

"Alfredo, why _is_ it called football, anyway?" Feliciano asked, tilting his head.

"No one knows," the sandy-haired nation replied mysteriously.

"So, America," Germany prompted, also used to America's strangeness, "are you up for a match of football?"

"You mean soccer?"

"No, football."

"I thought you didn't play."

"Not your football, our football."

"Whose football?"

"The rest of the world's football."

"…You mean soccer?"

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose, patience wearing thin. "Yes, _soccer_."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

Lovino face palmed.

"Is that an affirmative?" Germany questioned.

"I dunno, man," America hesitated, scratching his head. "I'm not really good at the game."

"Lucky for you, Ludwig is!" Feliciano chirped. "Though not as good as Italy, of course," he muttered. "But I'm sure he can teach you!"

Germany nodded in confirmation.

"Alright, sure, I'll try it out."

_15 minutes later…_

"America!" Germany shouted gruffly. "How many times do I have to tell you: there's no tackling in football!"

"But it makes the game so much more interesting!"

"…Just get off of me."

* * *

"Hola, America!" Spain smiled cheerily, talking into the cabinet he had just opened. "Can you hand me the large pot?"

"Uh, yeah, sure…Hold on a sec." America shifted his laptop, pulled out the requested pot, and handed it up to the older nation. "Here ya go."

"Thanks!" Spain took the object. "Say, what are you doing in there anyway?"

"Hiding," the younger nation whispered.

"From?" Spain prompted.

"_Them_."

Spain stared, clearly confused.

"The Italies!" America whisper-shouted, as if it should be obvious. "I've had it with their 'West Italy' talk, their 'you can't wear jeans', 'what did we tell you about not using coasters', and their 'Alfredo, will you put on this dress? I think you'd look really pretty in it!'" America ranted, eye twitching.

"Ah," Spain nodded sagely. "They can be hard to handle at first. But I'm sure you'll get used to them."

"I don't want to get used to them! I want to get away!" America clambered hastily out of the cupboard, grabbing the Spaniard's shirt. "You'll help me, right?" he asked, somewhat crazed.

"Uh…Si?" Spain asked. "But where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere! Just not here."

Spain thought for a minute before smiling once more. "I know just the place."

* * *

"So…why are we doing this again?" America asked, frowning.

"El Encierro is a longtime tradition of my people. We missed the big festival for it, so this small one is the best we can do. Plus, it's exciting!" Spain said excitedly.

"I dunno, man. I mean, it seems kind of dangerous. Haven't people died from this?"

Spain laughed. "Don't worry about it!" he said, clapping a hand on the American's back. "You'll be- RUN!" he yelled at the sound of a rocket.

"What? Oh shit!" America yelped at the sight of the bulls behind him as they charged out of their pen. He quickly caught up with Spain. "Why do you run from them?"

"What do you mean? They're bulls, I'm human. Well, kind of."

"No. Well yes, but what I mean is why run when you can ride them?" America asked.

"I don't understand. Why would you ride the bull?" Spain countered, perplexed.

"Dude, you've never ridden a bull before? You gotta try it, it's awesome! Here, watch me!" America ran back towards the charging bulls.

"America, are you crazy? You're going to kill yourself?" Spain shouted. "…I'm going to go to prison for child neglect," he whimpered. "No, Lovi will kill me before I ever get to court," he paled.

"Dude, trust me! Now watch!" America pulled a long rope out of his pocket and swiftly threw it at one of the bulls. The lasso wrapped perfectly around its neck. The bull, unaware of his new predicament, continued rushing towards America, who gave the cable a sharp pull to tighten the noose, sidestepped out of the way, grabbed its left horn, and threw his weigh up and onto the creature.

"Yee-haw!" he yelled, grabbing the rope collar with one hand while waving with the other. "Now this is exciting!"

Spain ran to the side of the parade to stare in wonder. "I had no idea you could do that!" he called, running to the side of the stampede.

America smirked. "It's pretty awesome, I know. Hey, why don't you pull out your pocket lasso and join me?"

Spain blinked, impressed with the nation's even speech while a giant animal bucked beneath him. "I don't have one of those. Come to think of it, I don't think anyone does but you."

"Really?" America blinked, shocked. "I thought they were pretty common. Hold on, I think I have another in here…" America fished around his pocket with his free hand, face filled with frustration. "I know I always bring a spare…"

"It's ok, America, I don't think I'd-"

"Here it is!" America yelled triumphantly. "Catch!" he shouted, tossing it to Spain.

"Thanks, but I don't know that I can do this," he said, staring at the rope worriedly.

"Come on, man! It's so much more fun with a partner!"

Spain thought for a minute. He did bring America here to bond with, after all. "Alright, I'm in."

"Great! Now, it's real simple…"

* * *

"…And that's how I hit my head!" Spain laughed. "Oh, and broke my arm!"

"You don't need to sound so damn cheery about it," Lovino huffed.

"But it was a fun way to hit my head!" Spain pouted.

"…How hard did you say you hit it?"

"Lovi, that's mean!"

"Oh, hey 'Mano, I've been looking for you!" America said, entering the living room clad in cowboy gear. "Come with me! I want to show you something!"

Lovino looked at America for a beat, wide-eyed and full of fear, before promptly bolting the other way.

"Hey, Romano, where are you going?" America called after him. "What's up with him?" he asked Spain. "I just wanted to show him a new pair of shoes I bought…"

"I think it might have something to do with your clothes."

"Oh, this old thing? I was just really in the wrangling mood since the other day, but since there aren't any cattle to be found 'round these parts, I decided to just wear the outfit. Sorry again about your arm…"

"That's alright! I had fun! We should do it again sometime. But maybe start with something less dangerous."

America smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, not my best idea there. Anyway, I guess I'll just go find Italy and show him my shoes instead. Later!" he waved, running out of the room.

"…Why did I just agree to go through that again?" Spain sighed.

* * *

"Trying to win him over is taking way too long. I say we have a football match. Winner gets America," Spain said.

"A football match? How would that prove anything?" Germany asked, confused.

"What's the matter, scared you'll lose?" Spain taunted.

"No, I just don't see the point," Germany argued, crossing his arms.

"Then I win by default."

"How does that- Fine," Germany said, shaking his head. "First to three?" With any luck, he would win and Spain would leave him alone so Germany could simply ask Italy in the morning whose son America was. The competition was getting old fast.

Spain smirked. "You read my mind."

"Very good. Let me go grab the football and I'll-"

"Did someone say football?" America shouted excitedly.

"Ja, Antonio and I were going to-" Germany was cut off by a battle cry as America lunged towards both nations, tackling them to the ground.

"Hahaha! The Hero wins!"

"Ludwig?" Spain groaned.

"Hm?" The German grunted in reply.

"I don't think I can play today…I think America just broke my back."

"That's good, because I think that he just punctured my lung."

"Truce?"

"Truce."

* * *

**I definitely butchered the whole running of the bulls/rodeo thing. Oh well! The beauty of being the writer.**

**Ok, so, I had some people asking about England and France. In case I wasn't clear, they went off to go find Canada. Which leads me to a question: Are you guys interested in a side chapter/story about this escapade? If it becomes a chapter it will be one and done, but if it's its own story it might lead to other countries' adventures with Canada. Let me know what you think of either of these ideas!**

**Thanks so much for your continued support!**


	8. Author's Note

**This isn't a chapter - sorry!**

**So...I'm not dead?**

**I do apologize for the wait. I have the next 3 or 4 chapters roughly mapped out, but for some reason as soon as I sit down to write, nothing happens. On top of that I have school, exams, illness, tumblr addictions, a concussion...it hasn't been a good semester ahahaha~ If I haven't gotten back to your review, I promise I will! Things keep happening, though, and then I forget or get sidetracked or whatever. **

**That being said, I will definitely do my best to finish up the next chapter within the next couple of weeks. Coming up next is the FrUK interlude since people seem to want it and I'm kind of excited for it (and suddenly inspired to write more of it!).**

**Thanks so much for your patience and support!**

**~Annakratos**


	9. Interlude

**Guys. Guys. I just realized something. I now have 50 favorites for this story. 50. Favorites. I love you.**

**This chapter required a bit of Canadian knowledge, of which I have very little. So I enlisted the help of the lovely KiaraWangWilliams, a native, to find out about my hat's police force. If you ever need to know anything about the Mounties, ask her. My goodness, she's well informed. **

**I think the French is right, but I'm a little rusty so please do let me know if I got anything wrong.**

**Thanks to MoonClaimed, as always, for being awesome and fixing many things.**

**Next chapter is back to the main story.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"We're lost."

"No, we're not. I'm sure it's this way."

"Do you not see the vast nothingness around us? It means we're lost, Francis."

"Arthur, I've been to Mathieu's house many times. I think I would know where it is."

Arthur came to an abrupt stop. "Then why the bloody hell have we been walking around the middle of nowhere for the past few hours?"

"Canada is a very large nation," Francis said indignantly.

"…You have absolutely no idea where we are, do you?" Arthur asked, sighing.

"Of course I know where we are." He paused. "We're in a plain."

Arthur stared at his blond companion, exasperated.

"Alright, so maybe I'm having a _bit_ of trouble remembering where mon petit érable lives, but I'm sure-"

"'A bit?' Francis, we haven't seen any sign of civilization in a day!"

"And I suppose you know the way?" Francis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can barely see the lad, how am I supposed to know where his house is? We could be walking through a city right now for all I know."

"Don't be ridiculous. The cities around here are French! I would know if I was in one." Francis sighed. "We'd best keep walking. We're not going to get anywhere if we just stand here." After a harrumph from England, France took his hand and led him north. A Canadian civilian, long used to being ignored by foreigners, stepped out of their way before entering the main door of the skyscraper the pair had been blocking.

"Where is Matthew's house, anyway?" Arthur asked with vague interest, not noticing the car that screeched to a stop.

"It's in a wooded area not too far from Montréal." Francis paused. "You know, we're alone in the middle of nowhere." He grabbed England and pulled him close. "We can do whatever we want out here," he whispered into the smaller nation's ear.

"Wh-What?!" Arthur exclaimed, cheeks turning red. "We need to find Matthew, d-don't we? You wanted to see him in a dress. That's the whole reason we're up here in the first place."

"Oui, but why don't we 'enjoy the sights' while we visit, hmm? We can always find Mathieu tomorrow. So, what do you say?" France asked, placing a hand firmly on England's ass and squeezing.

"Hands off you bloody perv!" England snapped, pushing the taller blond away.

"You wound me with your words, mon cher."

"Good! I'm not having sex with you in public! Someone might see us."

"Arthur, we're in the middle of nowhere, who's going to see us?"

"I don't know; someone could come along."

Francis sighed. "You're no fun." They stood in silence for a moment. "So what about when we're not in public?"

"W-Well," the Brit stammered, "I guess-"

"Like when we get to Mathieu's house!"

"There's no way I'm having sex with you in our son's house, you stupid frog!" England yelled.

Canada, who was sipping a cup of coffee at a table outside of small café, looked up at the sound of familiar voices. "Merde! How'd they find me?" he muttered. Looking around frantically, he grabbed a news paper and opened it, hiding behind it in case his parents somehow managed to spot him. He peaked over the top to watch them.

"Hold on a tic, wasn't Montreal originally one of your cities? And you said the area around here is very French, right?" England asked, gears spinning in his head.

"Oui, assuming we are in Québec, that is."

"Can't you sense it or something?"

"Sense it?" France replied, perplexed.

"You're the personification of France! You should be able to sniff out anything French easy," England explained.

"I could give it a shot…" Francis closed his eyes, breathing in the air and concentrating on his surroundings.

"Sense anything?"

"I only just closed my eyes."

Arthur hummed. "You're bad at this."

"Like you could do any better. Now be quiet and let me focus."

"Careful not to hurt yourself."

France harrumphed before closing his eyes once again.

A beat.

"What about now?" England smirked.

Francis glared at his companion. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't…" Francis sighed in defeat. "I'm going to try again," he said. "Don't interrupt me this time," he glared at his partner before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes once again.

England watched his lover's brow furrow as he tried to sense the land around him.

Canada frowned. One of his poor citizens was standing at a loss, muttering quiet "excuse me's" as he tried to get to his blocked-off bike, but the two countries (unable to hear the man) had chosen that exact spot to stop and…just what were they doing? The inhabitant seemed to have realized they were foreigners, and gave up, choosing to sit on the curb and wait patiently for them to finish their…business. Canada'd go over and help himself if he wasn't so concerned with being found. Instead, he chose to keep watch from a safe distance.

Finally, Francis' eyes snapped open. "East."

England, who had long since gotten lost in his own thoughts, jolted at the sudden outburst. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"East," the Frenchman smiled triumphantly. "We need to go east."

"Which way is east?"

"That way," Francis smiled, pointing to his right.

"You mean the way we just came from?" Arthur asked, raising an (overly large) eyebrow.

"Did I say east? I meant west. Definitely west, which is that way," Francis said, pointing to his left.

"You didn't sense a thing, did you?"

"Not a one."

"Okay."

The duo stood in silence for a minute. "Really, you couldn't have just admitted you couldn't find anything?"

"It was better than just wandering aimlessly."

"Oh really? And how did you figure going back in the same direction would be more useful?"

"You're so mean to me, mon cher."

Britain sighed. "Ok, let's try west, then."

The pair had taken no more than three steps when Francis stumbled and landed on the ground.

"This is why you should lay off the wine," England commented absently, looking at his nails.

"I haven't had a single glass since before we arrived at America's."

"Oh, so I suppose something tripped you?"

"Oui, that is correct," France said, picking himself up.

"And what, pray tell, managed to do that in the middle of this open field?"

"Perhaps there was a-Ah!" France cried in shock.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Francis raised a shaking finger, pointing next to the spot he had fallen on. "There's a person there!"

"Flying Mint Bunny is real, and so are my other magical friends, so stop making fun of me!" England yelled, stomping his foot.

"Non, I swear there's a person there! At least I think there is…" France frowned. The man, middle aged and looking mighty uncomfortable with the sudden attention, was mostly transparent. "I can barely see him."

England leaned his face into the spot the other nation had pointed to, scrunching his face and scrutinizing the empty space in front of him. "Maybe he's Canadian..."

"Maybe he knows where Montréal is!" France kneeled down in front of the vague figure. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but would you happen to know the way to Montréal?"

The man on the ground blinked. "You can see me? Oh mon dieu…" the man mumbled. "A European noticed me. This has never happened before. What do I do? What does it mean?!" He was used to the occasional American, but a European? It was unheard of!

"Excuse me, sir," a passerby said to her fellow Canadian, "Did you just say that these Europeans… _noticed_ you?"

"What?!" a lady from the now gathering crowd yelped. "What does it mean? Officer, officer!" she yelled, waving at the uniformed man across the street fervently.

"What seems to be the problem, miss?" the officer asked, crossing over to meet the group.

"These foreigners, they've seen us!" the lady cried hysterically.

"It's alright, calm down. They're probably just Americans."

"But they sound like they're French and British." The woman moved closer, eyes full of worry. "Officer, what does it mean?"

"Are you sure there's someone there? I think he would have spoken by now," England mused.

"There's definitely someone. I think," Francis frowned. "Maybe he's shy."

"Or maybe he doesn't speak English. Try your poor excuse of a language."

"French is a very romantic language! Unlike English, a hideous one." France cut off England's reply. "But I suppose I could try. Québécois is a little different, but I think he'll understand me well enough." He turned back to the local. "Parlez-vous français?" A weak nod. "Savez-vous comment se rendre à Montréal?"

"Did he just say Montréal?" the lady whispered in fear. "They're looking for us!"

"The British are coming!" a hysteric citizen cried.

"The French are too!" A beat. "…Actually, that's not too worrisome."

"But what have we done to upset them?!"

"Maybe they want to recolonize us!"

"At least it's not the Russians…" a man in the now forming crowd muttered.

"The Russians are here too? Oh God, we're going to die!"

Canada, who had decided things were getting just a _tad_ out of hand, had finally ventured over to the panicking crowd. "It's ok, I know them, they're not going to-"

"Everyone just needs to calm down," the officer yelled as he finished whispering frantically into a walkie-talkie. "The proper authorities have been notified and are on their way; they'll let you know what, if any, action should be taken. For now, just keep some distance-"

"Really, it's ok," Canada protested. "These are my-"

"Sir, I'm not going to ask again," the officer said with surprising force (for a Canadian). "This is a matter of national security. I'll use force if necessary."

"But I _am_ national security!"

"You mean you're with the CSIS? Wow, you got here fast. I mean, I only just made the call."

"That isn't what I-"

"You're with the government?" the lady asked. "Oh god, it's worse than we thought!"

"The threat is real!"

"No! I'm not with the CSIS!" Canada shouted.

"Then…you're a Mountie? But there aren't any Mounties in Québec."

"That guy's RCMP? But he doesn't have a horse!"

"It's a mountless Mountie!"

"The Europeans got to his horse!"

Canada sighed. He just had to open his mouth.

"If everyone'll just calm down-" the Officer tried.

"They're coming, they're really coming!"

"I'm sure if we just-" he tried again.

"This is the end!"

"We're going to die!"

The lone American in the crowd (who had wandered over as the excitement built) whipped out his handgun (which of course he had) and fired a round in the air, immediately silencing the hysterical crowd. They all turned to face him, eyes wide with fear.

The American turned to face the police officer. "Sorry, Officer, I didn't know how else to make them quiet."

"Oh. Well, yes, um, thank you," the officer replied, a little shocked. "Anyway, as I was saying…RUN!"

At the order of their beloved Force, the swarm dissipated quickly and Canada was swept away in the chaos.

"Hmm? Where'd he go?" France asked, blinking.

"What's wrong?" England asked.

"The man. He just…vanished."

"Are you sure he was even there to begin with?"

"I thought he was." The taller blond stood up. "But maybe I really have had too much wine without noticing. It's a habit, you know. Hey, what's that?" he asked, nodding ahead of him.

England looked over his shoulder. "It's a…man?"

"Must be American, if you can see him too."

"How do you figure that?"

"Who else comes here? Most of the world can't even remember the nation exists, much less visit it."

"True…but why's he running?" England asked.

"A jog in the wilderness is a common thing."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's retreating back. "In a business suit?"

"Well-"

"With a brief case?"

The two shared a look.

"Americans. I'll never understand them."

**3 Days Later...**

"See Gil? I told you it would look better on me than Alfred," Canada said.

Prussia grinned. "You do look pretty good in it."

"Hey, don't get any ideas! This is a onetime thing!"

"Aw, c'mon Mattie, how can you put that on and expect me not to get any ideas?"

"Ha! I told you I could find Matthieu's house!" a voice drifted in through the window.

Canada froze. "Oh no."

"Birdie? You ok?"

"Merde, I thought they would have given up by now!" Canada swore, options racing through his head.

"Mattie, what's wrong?"

There was rapping on the door. "Hello? Matthieu, Papa's here!" France called from outside.

"Oh," Prussia said in understanding. "It's ok, we'll just wait them out. They'll think no one's home and leave."

"Francis, I don't think anyone's home…" England sighed.

"See?" Prussia smirked. "Now, where were we?" he asked, pulling his boyfriend close.

"Gilbert…" Canada breathed,

"That's alright, I'll just use my house key!" France chirped.

Prussia froze. "House key? Seriously? You gave _him_ a house key?" the albino gritted his teeth.

"He stole it! Maple, now what do we do?"

"Come on." Prussia grabbed the blond's wrist and dragged him from the couch into the bedroom.

"Gil, I love you, but I'm not having sex when my parents are about to barge in."

Prussia rolled his eyes and dragged his lover into the closet, closing the door behind him.

"What are you-"

"Sh." Prussia his hand over Canada's mouth to quiet him.

"Matthieu? Anyone home?" Francis called out tentatively.

"Hey, Mattie," Prussia whispered.

"Hm?"

"We're alone. In the closet."

Canada lowered Prussia's arm so he could speak. "What are you get-mph!" Canada was silenced as Prussia's lips clashed against him and he found himself in the paler man's embrace.

* * *

"He's not in the kitchen, Francis. I really don't think he's here." England called.

"Maybe he's in the shower. Hold on." Francis walked into the bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door. "Matthieu, are you in there?" he called.

* * *

Canada was doing his best to keep quiet, but whenever Prussia kissed him it was hard to maintain control. The kiss was gradually getting more passionate and Canada stumbled backwards from the force. His hand, which had previously been entwined in his boyfriend's hair, instinctively shot backwards, trying to grab hold of something, and managed to latch onto the door's handle. This in turn lead to unintentionally pushing it down, the door opening, and the couple toppling out to land on the carpet.

Francis turned around at the sound of the noise. "Oh, Matthieu, there you – ohonhonhonhon~ If you two wanted some alone time, you should have just- Oh mon dieu." France's breath caught as he took in the sight in front of him.

England burst into the room. "Francis, I head a crash, are you- Matthew?"

Canada looked back and forth between the two, eyes wide, before sighing in defeat. "Hi."

"Matthieu, why didn't you _tell _me you liked cross-dressing? I could have-"

"I don't like it, Papa."

"But you're wearing a dress," Arthur pointed out. "Actually, isn't that the same dress Alfred was in a few days ago?"

Canada sighed. He knew he'd never live this down. "Yeah, it is…" he admitted. "But I'm only in it because Gil thought I couldn't pull it off, which I totally can. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to change back into my manly clothes," Canada huffed, lifting the hem and striding into the bathroom to change.

"But you look so cute, mon cher!"

"Aw, Mattie, do you have to?" Prussia complained as Canada shut the door behind him.

"You enjoy the sight of mon petit Matthieu in a dress?" Francis asked, eying Prussia up.

"Um….Well, that is to say…" Prussia grimaced. Canada was France's precious son. Of course he would get protective, even if Prussia was one of his best friends.

But instead of yelling, Francis smiled widely. "Have some more," he winked, shoving a large shopping bag into Gilbert's hands. "Just make sure to take pictures and send them to moi."

Gilbert blinked before grinning himself. "I love you, Franny."

"We'll leave you two love birds alone. Come along, mon cher," he said, intertwining his fingers with Arthur's and leading him out of the bedroom, but stopping as they passed the dresser when he spotted a newspaper with a picture of the two Europeans surrounded by screaming people on the front page. "'Mayhem in Montreal?' I don't remember this…"

* * *

It was only after France and England had left that Canada finally emerged from the bathroom, clad in a red sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

"They're gone already?" he asked Prussia, who was sitting at the edge of the bed.

"They got what they came for. Brought some presents, too."

"Really? Let me see!" Canada took the bag from Prussia and sifted through the material inside. "Oh you've got to be…I'm not wearing these."

"But Mattie!" Prussia whined. "They'd look so good on you!"

"I don't care, I'm not wearing them," the blond said, rising.

Prussia sighed. "It's probably for the best. These look rather small. They probably wouldn't fit you, anyway. I mean, look how tiny this one is," he said, pulling one out of the bag. "There's no way you could get it on."

Canada froze and turned around. "Give me that," he snapped, snatching the cloth and making his way into the bathroom.

Gilbert smirked. _Totally not a 'onetime thing'._

* * *

**There's a monstrous hurricane heading up the east coast of the United States this weekend into early next week. Please stay safe!**


End file.
